


In the Drunk Tank

by CumberCurlyGirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunkenness, Erections, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, The Stag Night (Sherlock: The Sign of Three)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberCurlyGirl/pseuds/CumberCurlyGirl
Summary: The morning after his stag night, John wakes up in the drunk tank spooning Sherlock. This might change everything.





	In the Drunk Tank

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockWatson_Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWatson_Holmes/gifts).



> My Twitter friend Kat mentioned she'd like to read something like this. Here it is! Unbeta'd. Just a little morsel of fun.

The pounding in his head was tremendous. _Owww, fuck, it hurts._ His mouth felt like it was full of sawdust and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. But he was tired, very tired, and so he drifted back to sleep.

And dreamed.

The music was loud, and they were drinking beer out of what, a test tube? A beaker? He didn’t know what the fuck it was, some sort of scientific paraphernalia that Sherlock had brought along. And he had gone along with it. He would let Sherlock do anything. Any bizarre thing the man dreamt up, John would go along with. Sure, he’d pretend to be annoyed, but he’d indulge his brilliant friend. Visiting a pub on every street where they’d found a body. Why not? Sherlock was nothing if not inventive.

Singular.

Fascinating.

Gorgeous.

Sexy.

They’d drunk too much. Got into a fight maybe? Then there was Tessa. _Who’s Tessa? Oh, right, a client._ “I’m dating a ghost” Tessa. She’d interrupted their game. Some sort of game, with names…

Sherlock sprawled languidly in his chair, long legs extended. Slurring his words, laughing. John had touched him. Touched his knee, pretending to steady himself.

 _But Mary_.

John pushed her from his mind and tried to keep the dream going.

Sherlock beautifully open, guard down, soft…there could have been something, something between them, something always there that was about to be acknowledged. Those lips, the lips that could spew insults or deductions at a speed John found incredible, were forming words slowly and John could not take his eyes from them, they were so...pretty and _kissable_. 

Then Tessa had interrupted.

 

*****

 

The headache was still there, and his shoulder hurt. He was lying on his side, sandwiched between something hard and something soft. It was dark.

John could vaguely remember the ride in the back of the police car, Sherlock’s head against his shoulder. Had they been singing? He thought so but couldn’t remember what. Except that he could remember exactly how Sherlock felt against him. Warm and heavy.

Jail. They were going to jail, but John found he didn’t care. He laughed when he realised just how much he didn’t care. All that mattered was the dark head on his shoulder.

Mary sometimes leaned against him this way. His _fiancé_ Mary. _Go away, this is my dream, and you’re not in it. Not this time._ Fuck. She was his fiancé, and all he could think about was Sherlock.

 

*****

 

John dozed. His head still hurt. His mouth was still foul tasting. But amid the discomforts, he felt a warmth and perceived a familiar, comforting smell. Coconut and vanilla, Sherlock’s shampoo. And something else; a musky, sweaty, male smell. Sensual. John opened his eyes, unsure of where he was. He could make out white walls in the dim light but nothing else. Wherever it was, the entire front of his body was pressed against Sherlock’s back. He could feel the man’s even breathing. John’s arm was around him, and when he held his breath, he could feel Sherlock’s heartbeat under his hand. He did hold his breath, just to enjoy the sensation of it.

His nose was touching the skin of Sherlock’s neck, the curls there tickling his cheeks, and he inhaled deeply. He could feel the swell of Sherlock’s round buttocks against his…his…Oh bloody hell, he was hard!

It was just a morning erection, he told himself. Only his body, doing what bodies do. It had nothing to do with the beautiful detective lying beside him. Of course not. _Shit! Get a hold of yourself, John._ It felt good, really good. How could this be happening?

Sherlock, the little spoon, slept on as John lay behind him, agonising over the situation in which he found himself. His cock was aching, pressed against that perfect arse. John pushed his hips forward ever so slightly, and his erection slid against Sherlocks trouser-clad buttocks.

_Oh god!_

John still couldn’t believe what was happening. But he wanted it. He wanted it with every fibre of his being, wanted this closeness with Sherlock. Wanted the whole man, not just the detective. He wanted to shake him awake, to kiss him. To _tell_ him.

Was this going to change everything? It had to.  

But what if Sherlock didn’t feel the same? What if he didn’t appreciate his flatmate, the flatmate who happened to be engaged to someone else, grinding his cock into him?

But it was too late for all of that.  John pushed his hips forward again and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock made a sound deep in his chest, and John froze, terrified.

They stayed motionless for what seemed an eternity until John felt warm fingers slide over his hand and squeeze gently.

He exhaled with relief and pressed his lips again to the smooth skin of that long neck, tasting the salt and the sweat.

"Sherlock," he whispered. 

Sherlock shifted, angling his head back so that John could just make out his eyes in the dim light.

Those eyes. Those amazing, perceptive, cat-like eyes glittered in the darkness and pierced John’s very soul. Without a word spoken, they said “Yes.”

John leaned down and placed a kiss on those full lips. At first, it was just the barest touch, their mouths were dry and their breath sour, but John didn't care, not one bit. Sherlock's hand went to John's hair and pulled him down, deepening the kiss. Then, John's head didn't hurt anymore. Then, there was nothing else in the world but the feel of Sherlock's body against his and his tongue in his mouth. Sherlock guided John's hand from its place over his heart down to his stomach, then further still until it rested over the hardness beneath his trousers. He pressed his hand over John's and sighed between kisses. It was surreal, it was wonderful, it was _right._..

Suddenly, there was a clanging sound and then a burst of harsh light.

“Wakey wakey—Oh my god!”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
